One Who Loves You More (Life Knows No Bounds series)

One Who Loves You More

By

Andrea Clinton

Life Knows No Bounds

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2011 by Andrea Clinton

AROUND-THE-WAY PUBLISHING

AroundTheWayPub@aol.com

This book is a work of fiction. So names, incidents,

character, places and things are all fictitious.

All rights reserved, including the rights of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

We Go Green.

Foreword

Point 2 Ponder

(Munch on this)

Life is for living, not for: wasting time, plotting, planning, or getting too relaxed in your condition or dull tiresome routine. Although life can be stable, no one should get comfortable in it. Because life is a cycle, a sequence of events, and if this is so, the seat in life that you presently reside in is a seat on a roller coaster that’s always due for some turn or another; and when it makes those sharp turns, it’ll drag you, heart pounding and racing, and with you screaming for the ride to stop. But it won’t, at least not until life’s ready, because Life Knows No Bounds.

Just as in real life, after settling their feet in the dirt, the characters in Life Knows No Bounds get a subliminal rug snatched from under their feet, and an electric shock to their nerves. It jilts and wakes them providing an un-invited invitation to remodel their lives. Without notice, they’re dumbstruck, lost and need to be found, and that’s life.

Introduction

Keep talking smack and Imma punch you in ya muthaf—kin’ mouth Penny! Keep talkin ho and I swear—I’ll tear the roof off this mutha’f—ker! I said, ironically with the DJ Pumpin’, "Atomic Dog" in the back ground, and us two cats ‘bout to fight.

My mother interrupted me, pulling me back. Alisa! Calm down. I got this, okay. Please, just calm down.

We were minding our business, when Um Foo-Foo, aka Penny, drove up. She double parked, ignoring the valet, and sashayed into my mother’s big birthday bash. My girls, Peaches and Shakirah, caught her at the door and backed her ass right outta there. I was so tired of her always poppin’ up and tryin’ to compete with me that I followed them out to let her have it. I walked up behind them so she couldn’t see me and as soon as we were outside—

Ummh! I punched her in the face. But my moms was pulling me back, so I barely got in a hit. But I still nicked her nevertheless. Then Penny got tough, and it was on.

"You ain’t sh—t! You ain’t sh—t Alisa! You sneakin’ people now! Sucka punchin’ them? And you can’t even land a punch right, dumb ass! Bring it though, bring it! "

I could spit fire. I was ready to stomp a mud hole in this ho for always trying to prove that she’s prettier, sexier, smarter and better than me whenever she got the chance. But I quickly realized this wasn’t the place for that. It was my mother’s party. And we were in a sophisticated banquet hall. Chandeliers, twinkly white lights, candles, Greek ambiance with off-white drapings and all the fixins. But this hooker had to show up, as usual, just to mess with my head.

My mother kept trying to calm me down. She didn’t know who the heck this girl was. I forgot I was pregnant and was ready to hook off on that ho again, until my belly got in the way, of course. I was determined to get her, even if it wasn’t actually me doing the gettin’.

Keep on! Make me tell my girls to mash you out Penny! I shouted, knowing they would.

"F—k them dumb ass b—ches. Tell ‘em to bring it—I did. Y’all ghetto-rat, hoochie-mommas not about nothin’! Bring it!" Penny yelled as she began to totally lose it.

Yo Peaches, light her fire yo! I turned to my girls, with my mother pulling me to stop. Yo, Shakirah, bust her up! As if I was giving the order for a hit!

I could tell Shakirah felt kinda strange about the whole thing. We were all getting too grown to be fighting. But I knew my girl was also down because it upset her that Penny would start something, seeing I was pregnant. Peaches, on the other hand, just didn’t care. Her family fights breakfast, lunch and dinner. It didn’t make her no difference; what the heck she care.

My moms put her hands up to stop them from lunging at Penny. "Please girls, don’t. Come on, for me. Come on this is my day," my mother pleaded.

Moms knew that the girls from ‘round my way, we don’t let nobody come talking smack or causing chaos with folks from our hood. Because the minute you do that, them niggaz start running up in ya hood like roaches, tryin’ to take over, like them 3rd Avenue jokers did the brothers on Playwright Street. You gotta be down for people from your hood, like ‘em or not. Hell, back in the day, we stomped out girls for jumpin’ Tara and we don’t even like her stankin’ ass, but she was from around the way. So my moms knew they would get down with Penny over me, and she could hold them back but for so long. The only reason Penny’s chicken legs weren’t stewed already was due to the respect the girls had for my mother. But if Penny stepped too far outta line, it was a wrap. She was lucky my other ten or so friends were inside dancing and flirting and didn’t have a clue as to what was happening outside.

With all the noise and nonsense, some big security guards came out. One of them pulled Penny to the side. Catching an eyeful of her in that tight outfit, he started looking her up and down, but trying to be slick about it.

Keeping my eye on Penny, I leaned toward my mother. Ma, I whispered, "stop turning ya back on this trick. She sneaky and she like to play with razors, tryin’ to be down. She’ll cut you just to get back at me." But my mother has a hard head her damn self. She rolled her eyes as if to say, Stop with all the drama.

Yo, Ma! You don’t know his ho! I’m tellin you! I tried to reason.

You don’t know me either b—ch! Penny barked, with eyebrows arched, lip snarled, fury and hate in her eyes. She looked just about how I felt, Guess I’ll go take another ride in ya man’s brand new gold Cadillac, show him some feel right! You know how we do!

Penny was an evil hussy, the kind that likes to play mind games. She’ll hurt you mentally when she can’t whoop ya ass. So, since no one would let us get at each other, Penny looked me over, then stared at my belly and her eyes lit up. She could tell I was pregnant for sure now!

So, to push my buttons, Penny decided to use her sex appeal to rub in my face that I was pregnant, out of shape and not as sexy as her anymore. She slithered over to one of the guards. Hey baby, she said, knowing he’d appreciate her admiration. She looked like a freakin’ maniac.

Why you out here acting like this? Come on now, you too fine for this, he replied, looking her body over once again.

She smirked, looking at me as if to say, Yeah you wish your fat pregnant ass could look like me and please a man, don’t you? Then she softly touched his chest and said to him as if the two of them were about to get down right there in the parking lot.

I’m just trying to max and relax. It’s this pregnant ho that’s mad because her man was with me ‘cause she too big and fat.

Now that was her way of sucka punchin’ me. I had been gone for months and had no idea anything like that had gone on. She got it off though; she gut-punched me. And I’m sure she was hoping I would explode with so much jealousy that I’d do something stupid, hurt myself by mistake and wind up losing the baby. But the thought of Penny with my ex-fiancé left me too crushed for another outburst. He may well have moved on and started sleeping with other women. I treated him really bad before we broke up; I was terrible. The thought took my breath away. But I had to keep my focus, had to put on my poker face. I couldn’t let her know that she got to me.

See, Penny thought she had me beat because my ex, Omar, adored a woman with a college degree. And she graduated with a master’s in psychology, which she always tried to use to outwit me. Like tonight for instance, she only came to show me up, and make me envious; somebody probably told her I was pregnant or either she didn’t know and came for the competition of it all. But I have to admit, she was fly: short platinum blonde hairdo, not to mention her tricked-out, tight, black minidress with diamond studs. It had straps that crossed over her chest and stretched up to a choker around her neck, showing off her arms and shoulders. Plus, she had on high-heeled sandals like the ones I wore prior to pregnancy. I guess I was a li’l jealous ‘cause that was a baaad outfit, something I would’ve worn going up in a club just to make the men want me, then go home knowing I was the sh—t up in that joint.

It’s okay, baby, she said to the security guard. I’m not about to let that jealous b—ch get me to stop acting like the lady I am, just because she’s mad she’s all popped out of shape.

Listen, my moms butted in. Call my daughter another female dog and you gonna meet a real one! Now I’m trying to be a lady, little girl, so don’t make me come out of a bag on you. Walk! My mother pointed in the direction of the brand-new, black BMW Penny had double parked.

I came here to see E-Money, and I’m not going nowhere ‘til he comes out.

E-Money? Li’l girl, please! My mother warned. My brother is old enough to be yo daddy!

What! Git the f—k out my face b—ch, I’m grown!

Li’l, you know what. My mother lunged at her, but was caught by one of the guards. As they held her back, Peaches and Shakirah moved in. Peaches pulled out two razors from her purse, and tossed one to Shakirah. That ho, Penny, reached into her dress and pulled out two razors of her own. Peaches, known for her karate, stood to the side of Penny and was about to take her head off with a roundhouse kick. It surely would’ve knocked Penny out cold before she even had a chance to open up those razors. Dumb ass from the suburbs trying to be down.

But that trick was saved by my uncle E-Money. He came out, saw what was going on, and pushed past Shakirah and the security guards. Nobody got in his way or tried to stop him, because he had some serious respect around the hood as one of the old-heads. Just when Peaches was about to take off Penny’s head, my uncle pulled that skank into his chest and kissed her. The passionate hug and kiss made security feel awkward; they totally disregarded the girls pulling out their razors, and since it was a li’l calm now, they decided to get the rest of us back into the banquet hall. One guard, who knew my moms, started to take her inside. And since she was yelling for me, her pregnant daughter, they began pulling me to the door too. My girls began backing off. Peaches put her razors away and started talking smack to vent her frustration. I felt her pain.

As the guards pulled me into the party I looked back and saw E-Money hugging Penny and tenderly caressing her back. He was so nasty, kissing her all over, and she, submitting to his embrace, gave in to his every whim. Yikes! I was disgusted by the entire display. But that wasn’t the pisser. Hey, what the heck I care who my uncle mess with? No, the pisser was that in all of her so-called ecstasy, she, still in his arms with her head on his shoulder, opened her eyes and looked at me, then winked and blew a kiss. It was another in ya face from her to me!

When I got back into the hall, I was so pissed at that. I wanted to calm down but I just couldn’t. I could live with anything that just happened, but the thing that knocked me for a loop was what she said with her eyes just before I came inside. She told me she enjoys getting under my skin and will do so whenever she could. I don’t even know this trick ass ho like that. I mean, I know her, but I don’t know her. And I just wanted to whoop her ass, get it over with, and feel good for a change. I hate that b—ch, and I hate b—ches like her. Uuuuuuuuuuuugh!

My peoples were trying to get me to calm down. They were afraid I had gotten too angry and might go into a toxemic pregnancy, as my high blood pressure had spiked a few times already. My moms had them all freaked out about me getting worked up, so they were on my case.

"Alisa, calm the f—k down! It’s over and that ho ain’t even worth all this. Chill out before you lose my niece or nephew and I have to f—k you up," Peaches said.

We talked like that when we was in hood-rat mode, gangsta hand movements and the whole nine yards. I was one of the most feminine and ladylike ones around, and even I could get like that if circumstances called for it.

I sat back in my chair, slithering down in my seat a li’l like a snake, to show them I was trying to relax. Then, after about half an hour, I took a glass of apple juice Peaches brought me and I got lost. I snuck upstairs and found a banquet room with a beautiful balcony.

I walked out onto this gorgeous balcony, with all of its Greek pillars and flowers, and I looked out at the world. This night, and in this place, we were up a steep hill on the edge of the city, just about where it starts to look country. I gazed down at the beautiful city lights and then up at the black night, and the few stars I found. Staring up in the sky, I realized I had no business bringing a baby into this crazy world of cruel and evil people. But I let it go, the thought I mean. Self-preservation made me stop sulking and take in the spectacular view of bright twinkling lights that lit up the city for miles.

After a while though, something told me to look back down. It was the devil who told me of course. He didn’t want me to be that serene. He likes me to be bitter and causing drama, actin’ crazy, messin’ up my life. And I’m sure it was that ole devil who told me to alter my gaze because all I saw when I looked down was Penny and E-Money still in the same spot, pawin’ each other like nasty lab rats high on LSD, in amazement, carrying on in public.

I got angry all over again. So I made myself look back out at the sky before any strong emotions could set in. I had to relieve myself of any thoughts of that worthless Penny. So, I stared at neon lights from different stores, and lights from cars, buildings, and street lights. I let them carry me away.

I was good for a while. Then that devil came back, told me to look down again. And I did. And I saw something that rattled me, set me back into this funky li’l depression. Something that shook me so bad, I stepped back from the balcony.

I turned and came over here to this lounger and sat down. As I leaned back and tried to relax, I saw you—a Greek so-called Goddess chipped out of the side of a beautiful pillar. I have no one to talk to about my messy life. But maybe if I could get it all out with you, someone who would just listen, and not judge me or be mad at me like everyone else, then maybe things won’t seem so bad. Maybe then I won’t feel like jumpin’ off this damn balcony while slitting my f—kin’ throat. No, I would never do that, it’s just how I feel. But maybe a good listener could help me sort this damn thing out, help me feel better.

So, I’ll call you Athena, she was supposed to be the Goddess of wisdom, and I’m gonna need some wisdom right now. I’ll use telepathy to speak to you in my head, so no one passing by will think I’m a nutcase. Instead they’ll think I’m deep in thought, right? Come on, don’t look at me like I’m crazy. You’re a woman, you’ve loved and lost. So, I know you’ll feel where I’m coming from.

Now, back to my story. What did I see when I looked down at the parking lot the second time. What was it that shook me? A Cadillac.

Chapter 1

My Plight:

Some would say I was ungrateful, and I guess to a degree I was. But more than ungrateful, I was blind, too blind to see straight. Even now I can’t see what it is I should’ve done. I just know what I shouldn’t have done. And I know I wasn’t happy. I was unhappy with myself, with what was going on, and it was the unhappiness that drove me. It drove me to do things, drove me to where I am today, nowhere, with no one. Just sitting here playing, I know how it feels to be lonely, by Morgana King, in my head, over and over and over again.

I was a mental-mess, and I mucked things up really bad, and now they can’t be fixed. Forgive me if my story’s scrambled, but how else can I tell it when my mind is scrambled. So, when my story sounds twisted, shaky, and unclear at times, just know so is my mind. Why else would I be sitting here talking to a Greek statue of a white woman with cellulite thighs, barely any clothing and no pupils? Yes, I’m really messed up in the head, and my nerves are shot. But that’s how it is when you see yourself as a casualty, and the world deems you the antagonist.

Chapter 2

What Had Happen Was—

When it all went down, I wanted so bad to be the type to turn to drugs or maybe liquor, heck cigarettes even. But that would never do. See right down to the very end, I, out of not knowing what to do acted and reacted just doing anything that came to mind.

It all goes back to my great-grandmother. See, just before she died, she turned to me, out of everyone in the room to say her last words, Always get a man who loves you more than you love him.

I later learned that she loved my great-grandfather much more than he loved her. And let’s just say he reaped all the benefits out of that marriage, not her. Her mother and grandmother told her the same old adage that she told me, and evidently she didn’t listen to them, and suffered because of it. I believe she wanted to make sure someone from my generation knew the wise saying that she eventually realized was best.

I held this old wise proverb to be true, hell, a dying woman’s last words? I was sure it could bring forth happiness. So did many other women in my family, although only one or two of them actually followed it and ended up satisfied and content. I was always hard-headed though, and given the opportunity, I would follow free thinking and go wherever my mind took me, much like those folks from long ago who started the Age of Reason, and later, the Enlightenment movement. Look it up Athena. You’re a so called Goddess, use your powers.

Like those of both movements, I used free thinking as a tool to open up more options in life. And where they acquired atheism, I acquired misery; same difference. But we were all rebellious. And my rebel streak led me to follow through with whatever seemed fit at the time. But look at where it got me—pregnant, lonely and alone.

Sure, like all other free thinkers before me, my mind was open to ideas, but this left an opening for the devil to come and play with me, with my mind. He’s so sharp he’s made many believe he doesn’t even exist, especially us free thinkers, because our minds sit wide open to everything. But whether we believe or not, the devil, Satan, he uses this so-called free thought against us. He makes us turn on our own souls ‘cause we’re stuck on being individuals, and on being different.

Us free thinkers, we think we’re different. We think we’re gonna show the world a better way because we’re blessed with individuality. We’re gonna open new doors and minds to unexplored suggestion. We’re Einsteins, Darwins. Well, my free thinking opened something all right; it opened my dark side, evilness and arrogance; it opened Pandora’s Box.

How did it all happen? A li’l while ago, around 1985 or ‘86, I wasreally living the Jersey life, you know. Chillin! Me and my friend Shakirah had different men coming and going. When one set of dudes dropped us off at home, another would show up right after to take us back out. Some of those guys back then were around my age, 19, some were older, and others if they had bank, hey, they could be much older. And I was always ladylike in the presence of men, to sweep them off their feet. And they were always taken by my good looks: 5 foot 9 and some inches tall—almost 5 foot 10, long, thick, silky, jet-black hair, light-almost-caramel complexion, long legs, hourglass frame and a pretty heart-shaped face, with regular brown eyes that sparkled and sometimes lit up a li’l in the sun.

At a minimum, the men would treat me to dinner, or take me where I wanted to go: the mall, movies, Atlantic City to gamble, beach, wherever, and they’d spend whatever on me. Then after falling in love with my winning personality, they’d buy some expensive gift or another. Oh, I knew how big spenders liked their women; they liked them to be like Marilyn Monroe, but with a smidgen of attitude and a dose of soul. Once in a while, I’d meet a guy with old money, from uptown or further out—he’d give me a credit card with a few thousand on it. That would buy him a hug and a subtle implied promise for more, or so he thought. I knew that was a dangerous game I was playing, but I was young, and the gettin’ was good, very good.

What did my family have to say about it all? My brothers Man-Man and Manny didn’t mind me dating businessmen because they wanted me to get with a man who made money honestly, unlike them. My stepfather minded his business about his step kids, although he would say a little something in his Virginian accent if he was in the mood. Okay now, that’s a dangerous game you playin’ out there. Some men play fa keeps. I seen many womens git killed out there usin’ mens fa there monies, neva mindin’ his feelins, he’d warn every once in a while.

But, my mother and aunts were always on my back, especially when my Aunt Tina came over for my mom’s to do her hair.

You a money-grubbing gold digger! my mother would say so viciously to me.

"I say she a money-grubbing ho myself," Aunt Tina would jump in.

"I’m for real Alisa. It don’t make no sense, and it’s not cute. How you think that make me look? You running ‘round using these young and older men to buy you things? And you coming and going with ‘em one after another?" my mother would ask.

Like you don’t do nothing for your daughter, so she gotta ho to get it herself, my aunt would add stirring up sh—t.

You need to get it together, go finish college, or go to trade school.

Get a job, my aunt continued, working my mother up.

Aiiight, ma dag, I said, sulking. I wanted to tell Aunt Tina to mind her damn business, but I couldn’t. Those two were notorious for jumping people, beatin’ them down, and they jumped each other’s kids all the time. As soon as one would whoop her child, the other would follow up with a hit or punch like a damn tag team; and they’d go back and forth ‘til they were tired.

Don’t aiiight me Alisa! Now you gonna get yo act together or I’m gonna whoop yo’ ass!

Or send you down south, to Georgia, my aunt threatened, as she always did.

Ma, how you gonna whoop me and I’m grown?

Then they’d both chime in, YOU AIN’T GROWN! Screaming at me made my moms get aggressive in doing my aunt’s hair; good for her.

Calm down in my hair; this sh—t ain’t barb wire, damn! My aunt would shout.

Grown, or not grown? That was the question. I personally didn’t know what the hell I was. I was 19, so I wasn’t a child or a kid. But, I wasn’t grown either. This was supported by the government who at some point stated I couldn’t buy cigarettes, or liquor, but who like my parents contradicted themselves because they would give me a license to kill in a war; go figure.

She think she cute ‘cause she think she light skin—don’t cha? My aunt would say.

Then they’d both look at me with their lips twisted and repeat, again, as if I didn’t get it the last million times, YOU AIN’T LIGHT SKIN!

Then Aunt Tina would give me a piece of her mind, as if I wanted any of it.

"I keep telling yo’ dumb ass, you lighter, a blink away from carmel. But, you ain’t light skinned! " She said attempting to register this crap in my head.

I didn’t pay them no mind, though it got on my nerves. Now, I do believe that I’m beautiful, but it’s because of my interior radiating loveliness and glamour through my exterior. But them two country-corns too hung up on skin color to get anything that deep.

What do light skin have to do with anything? Y’all kill me with that!

‘Cause, my mother would yell to close the conversation, ever since your second grade teacher made that comment about you being cute ‘cause you were light, you been in the mirror acting like you a princess!

Then together they’d spit at me, again, "AND YOU AIN’T LIGHT SKIN!"

It was always something like that, even though it was that teacher who said I was light, not me. I’d think we were finally done, but after a pause, my mother started in on me again.

The sun smacked you over about three times since second grade girl, please! Out here going out with all these different men. You won’t be satisfied ‘til things blow up in ya face. You gotta learn the hard way.

And things did blow up in my face, a few times. One of the worst happened just after that last conversation in the kitchen. I had decided to only date this 34-year-old man named Mack. I didn’t usually do the exclusive thing; once or twice maybe, but he was special, he was fine, and had money. But I guess, his wife thought he was special too. She showed up at my house with a gun, after forcing Mack to write my address down at gun point. But that wasn’t my fault. The man told me he was divorced. But things got hot with the quickness that night she popped up over there. Both my brothers whipped out their guns on her and backed Mrs. Mack up out our building. Then my moms, who was pissed beyond control, beat me with her shoe and anything else she could get her hands on. Then she called all her sisters. They all ran over with my cousins, their wild and crazy kids, Uuuugh! And my stepfather kicked me out. But Man-Man told him I wasn’t going no where, and then he yoked me up, while my brother Manny kept smacking me in the head. Again, that one wasn’t my fault.

So, I began listening to those who came before me. Yep, I went back to the words of one of the ancestors in my family, a dead woman, my great-grandmother. I aimed to get a man who loved me more than I loved him—so that I could be the happiest, most ghetto-fabulous hood-rat around my way, thus, Omar.

Chapter 3

Ridin’ in The Car Wit’ the Sunroof Top…

Woo-Woo

Omar was the most sweet and most desirable milk chocolate candy bar around the way. He was about 6 foot 2 inches tall. And he was muscular, not big and cakey, ooow I hate that look. He wasn’t a gym rat, either. Omar was naturally fit. I mean you could tell he hit his push-ups, pull-ups, and probably some crunches daily, but he had a nice, natural build. Oooow! You don’t even understand. Funny thing is, he looked much older than he was, always did.